Atonement
by Heckwithit
Summary: Their relationship was forged amidst the flames of war, their lives forever changed by the Varden's campaign. It was only natural that the war would lead to an epic romance. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance Cycle or its characters

A/N: Just to put it out there, I'm a student who goes to boarding school. This is my fiirst fic. I dunno if I should continue, so please leave a review to tell me what you think of it.

* * *

Nimbly side-stepping a heavy sword thrust, Eragon sealed his assailant's fate with a deft stroke to the neck. The Rider grimaced, briefly glancing at his newly acquired wound before evading yet another well-placed swing. While he engaged his enemies in combat, meeting their resistance with a flurry of swings, his conscience was elsewhere.

The young rider may have been in the heat of battle, but his mind was filled with concern for Arya. Eragon had last seen her in the midst of a large mass of soldiers converged together, stabbing at one another with an uncontrolled frenzy.

He gasped as he felt a sharp pain lance up his side. Cursing himself for carelessness, he quickly dispatched two more soldiers, subconsciously clutching at his stinging ribs.

_Eragon!_ came Saphira's cry, _Concentrate unless you want me to suffer sporadic fits!_

_I'm alright,_ he sent back, breaking through the last of the defences of the throng of soldiers that had been obstructing his passage to their objective. _Can you see how Arya's doing?_

_She's surrounded, but flanked with elves,_ came the dragon's reply.

_Take care. I'll lend them a hand,_ Eragon said, breaking into a run.

_Hmph, __**you'd**__ better not get hurt, _Saphira retorted, as she whipped her lethal tail across a large group of soldiers.

Eragon lithely loped towards the carnage, quickly surveying the condition before diving into the conflict. Hacking a path through a relatively thin barrier of the Empire's men, he slid effortlessly to join the elves furiously attacking their foes.

Keeping an eye on a certain female elf, Eragon continued to do what his body and mind had become long accustomed to: engaging in the merciless dance of ending the lives of others. With a practised air, he lunged at his opponent, driving the tip of Brisingr into the torso of an Empire soldier, releasing a spray of hot blood as the blade was torn out of the dying man.

As the minutes slipped by, Eragon found his physical and emotional state of being slowly succumb to the degrading atmosphere of the battlefield.

His head was filled with impatience and annoyance; the fact that a large group of straggling men who had lost their commander could wreak so much havoc drove the youth to his limits. After the battle of Feinster, surely he, Saphira and his comrades deserved time to lick their wounds and come to terms with their losses.

He had hoped for a period of time in which he could reorganise his thoughts strengthen his resolve, but he had been hit head on with a skirmish just hours after the conclusion of the Varden's siege. The circle of attackers had dwindled in numbers, and the remaining Empire men swung their weapons with a hint of fatigue.

Releasing the tension that had been building in his muscles, Eragon edged towards Arya, all the while sending more men to their deaths. He directed a small jet of blue flame towards a soldier duelling Arya, managing to knock the helmet off the man….no, the boy.

Eragon froze, before darting towards Arya. The boy looked to be around fifteen to sixteen, his youth further emphasised by a pair of bright blue eyes.

Alarmed at the prospect of a new attacker, the soldier spun around to face the direction in which the spell had been cast, only to have the female elf leap forward for an attack. "Stop!" a voice rang out in the midst of the chaos, and Arya was shocked to find Eragon sprinting towards her with a set look on his face.

"Eragon?"

"He's a kid, Arya, just a kid. After all that's happened to me…." Eragon faltered for a moment before continuing. "It's the king we're fighting, not the people"

"You can still say that?" queried Arya in a disbelieving tone. "After the thousands of lives he took…all the loved ones we lost… Eragon, we've both killed many. What difference does one more death make?"

"A lot Arya, a lot. It's the people that make a kingdom. Not the land, ruler or life, it's the inhabitants. He's a kid Arya. I know how he feels. To be holding a sword for your family, while knowing that you are not experienced enough to make a difference….it's something that I never want any other boy enduring."

"Eragon-"Arya started.

"Let him go, Arya. Let him live amongst his family, away from the battlefield. Let him have another chance, to die elsewhere not beside numerous others, hardly ever remembered."

"I am not a kid, and I need no sympathy from barbarians like you lot!" roared the boy, stabbing at Arya.

"You naïve little…" In a rare display of ferocity, Arya lunged forward to impale the soldier. With her supernatural abilities, it was evident what the result of the aftermath would be.

"STOP!" roared Eragon, massing his energy reserves to seemingly appear in between the two fighters. His body jerked twice as the swords entered his flesh, and he looked straight into Arya's eyes.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING, IMBECILE?_ raged Saphira to Eragon.

_Don't worry. I'm fine,_ replied her Rider. _Hurry up and crush those soldiers in front of you_, he added.

Bracing against the torrent of emotions and rage from Saphira, Eragon focused on Arya, swallowing down the pain and agony in his chest.

Arya's eyes were wide with shock. Her eyes flickered to the blade of her sword, still embedded in her friend's chest. Unable to comprehend what had happened, she brought her free hand to her face in a futile attempt to keep her thoughts under control. _I stabbed Eragon, I stabbed Eragon… _the words repeatedly rang in her mind.

The pain of Arya's sword-thrust had caught up with Eragon. He shut his eyes as the hot flames of agony blossomed, searing his torso.

The other fighter's sword had also penetrated his armor, but the force behind it was nothing in comparison the elf's strike. He spoke.

"Arya."

"Why, Eragon? WHY?" she asked with a note of hysteria in her voice. Her eyes were fixed on his visage, her insides aching at the look in his eyes.

"Was my face ever that interesting?" he asked lightly. "I'm fine. I am glad I was able to save one life today." In contrary to his words, blood trickled from his slightly smiling lips, his eyes clouding with pain for the briefest of instances.

Arya felt her eyes watering, and a single tear trickled down her cheek.

"Don't cry," he said softly. "I'm not going to die or anything…." Eragon was surprised at her reaction. The Arya he knew was compassionate, but in a detached sort of way. She'd be understandable, but outwardly always appeared strong. Of course, he'd seen moments when her true nature had shown itself, but that had always been in mourning of others that had been dear to her.

"Are you immune to pain or something?" asked the boy, interrupting Eragon's musings. He laughed softly, turning his face to the youth.

"No, I am not. This hurts," he said, dipping his gloved fingers in the rivulets of blood flowing down his front. Arya cringed inwardly. "But this is nothing in comparison to losing my uncle, father, teacher….all those friends and people I knew. That was true pain. Living on while their souls disappeared into the abyss, knowing that you will never see hear or touch them again. When one dies, they have no idea of the pain they leave behind. "

The boy chose that instant to pull his sword out of Eragon. The Rider almost instantly fell forward, landing on his knees, looking up at Arya. From far away, soldiers could see the figure of the elf with her sword through Eragon, who was on his knees.

_Arya, spare him. Take him away from here and see if he will join us. If not, set him free, _he told her.

_But…what about you?_ Arya sent back, mind still reeling

_What about me? I'm fine. Do it for me. I want him to see his home once more._ Eragon smiled, gripping the blade in his two hands and pulling it out of his chest. A fountain of blood spurted from the wound, and he felt himself weaken. Turning to face the soldier he had saved, he spoke.

"Live," he said, his voice taking on a husky edge. "We are not enemies, merely soldiers fighting for a better tomorrow for ourselves and our loved ones."

Turning back to Arya, he mentally relayed to her, _I trust you. Thank you._

And on that note, the young Rider turned and crumpled onto his side, a dragon letting forth a beleaguered roar in the background.

* * *

So, end of first chapter. It was short, but I am notorious for being lazy. Please review, and thank you for reading. If it's horrible, PLEASE SAY SO. (I'll delete this story if that's the case)

It's gonna turn into a romance/action fic.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: To the readers who reviewed, I thank you with the utmost sincerity. It was a pleasure to read all of your opinions and feedback.

* * *

She had been musing, after separating from Eragon and their shared period of grieving. The deaths of her mentors still heavy on her mind, Arya had left Eragon with Saphira, seeking her tent for more solace and time for herself.

Those cursed soldiers came minutes later, causing an uproar as the Varden were setting up camp. With the lack of Nasuada and any organised combat plan, the Varden resorted to brawl-like fighting, simply spotting an enemy and pitting themselves against the Empire soldiers.

Arya's POV

Too aware of the two eyes boring into my back, I focused on the limp form by my feet. Squatting in a crouch, I turned Eragon onto his back, my gut twisting as I saw a deep wound in his chest-a gash I had inflicted on him.

I blinked back tears, tempted to heal his chest, but knowing that I would not be able to carry out Eragon's request if I healed him. I knew the Varden would take good care of him, but I was wary all the same. My eyes flickered to his face, taking in the sight of his motionless visage.

_You stabbed him,_ a voice in my head said

I found tears welling in my eyes again, anguish rising in my throat.

_I did, I did. I stabbed him. I stabbed my friend. WHAT AM I? _I howled inwardly.

My thoughts were interrupted by a slight movement behind me, which I instantly sensed.

"You," I spoke flatly, straightening up. "Come."

"Got no choice, I guess," the young boy replied, shrugging. "You elves are superior to us, after all," he said, pointedly glancing at Eragon, then me.

"He's not an elf," I growled, turning towards the forest. "Come."

"Oh," the soldier responded, trudging behind me in an excruciatingly inconspicuous volume. "His features look too refined to be of a man."

"Look," I spun around to face him, voice trembling slightly. "I'm not meant to be doing this. Make your movements softer, and keep quiet, for both of our sakes."

In my head, I was living a nightmare. Images and sensations of my sword encountering his flesh played over and over in my mind. In a desperate attempt to return sanity to my conscience, I fled to the one place in my being that had never let me down: the corner where I shut out all emotions, and become devoid of all feelings.

After the loss of Faölin, my torture at the hands of Durza, I had been able to create this haven, where I was the distant, aloof Princess Arya that was unreachable. Staring blankly ahead, I headed away from the Varden's camp, relieved to be released from my burden of pain.

I found myself at a suitably secluded spot, halting my almost mechanic walking and turned to the boy. "I know that you will not join us," I stated with blank eyes. "Do as my comrade told you to. Be thankful that you are still alive."

"I am thankful, though I am confused," he confessed. "There is one thing I wish to ask, though." I indicated for him to continue.

"That elf…no, that guy, you're close to him, aren't you?" My throat constricted, the walls of my mental sanctuary began to deteriorate.

_For heaven's sake,_ I berated myself. _I am Princess Arya, heir to the Elven Throne! Why let a soldier put you at such discomfort?_ As much as I wished to yell at the boy to quit being so immature and nosy, I could not find the capacity to do so.

"And what makes you think that way?" I found myself saying instead, genuinely interested in his answer. As usual, I masked my thoughts well, putting on a face of impassiveness and disinterest.

"It's obvious," he said offhandedly. "You should be nicer to him. He's a good guy."

_KILL HIM! KILL THAT ARROGANT FOOL THAT OFFENDS YOU!,_ a voice screamed in my head.

"Obvious?" My voice sounded strained, but that hardly mattered. "How is it _obvious_?"

"Er…" he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "He likes you. I think you know that. But you care for him. Don't you?"

Feeling oddly drained of strength; I sat down heavily on a nearby log. "What makes you think that?" I asked again.

"Elf, you're different around him. When he appeared when we were fighting, you changed," the boy stated. "You're a nice being too. Thanks to you, I now have a better impression on elves."

I mumbled under my breath, calming my chaotic thoughts. "Are you going to leave yet?"

Glancing up at the sky, the boy shrugged. "I guess so. My little brother's at home looking after my mother and I think he could do with a hand," he said. "Tell that soldier I said thanks."

"Will do," I replied, staring at a patch of grass with shocking intensity.

"Oh yeah, could I have his name?"

"Whose name do you want?" I was hardly thinking, my mind in turmoil. The boy sighed.

"The name of the soldier who saved me," he said with an edge of impatience.

"Oh. His name is Eragon." I replied monotonously.

"Eragon? You mean Eragon Shadeslayer the Rider?" An incredulous tone had been added to his words. I sighed.

"That's the one. You leaving yet?" I asked again.

"Yeah, I'll be going then. Thanks, elf for this. I'll return the favour one day." I laughed lightly, a waved his statement off.

"Thank Eragon. You owe me nothing."

"I owe you an apology for intruding in your affairs."

"That you do."

"I'm sorry."

"You are forgiven."

"What?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're meant to say, 'It's okay.'"

"Well, that's preposterous."

"No it's not. It's manners."

"Why would I say that? What's wrong with 'You're forgiven?'?"

"It sounds like I just committed a colossal crime."

"So? Don't you want to be forgiven?"

"You elves…."

"What about our race?"

"So uptight…."

"You human…..watch your tongue."

"So regal…."

"You will regret this, soldier."

"So god-like…."

"Human….you are testing my patience."

"So….ELVISH…."

"You know, elves are elvish for a reason."

"A reason I don't want to hear."

"You leaving yet?"

"Soon elf, soon…. I'm Nathar by the way."

"Well, Nathar, it has been a pleasure to meet you and to have been on the receiving end of your….teachings."

"I like you, elf." That did it. I was officially fed up with this human soldier.

"_NATHAR_, JUST LEAVE…"

"Well that's not very nice….We'll meet again, I am sure. Bye…um what's your name?"

"That does not concern you. You going yet?"

"Bye, 'that does not concern you'. Hope things go well for both Eragon and you." I put on a stony face.

"Next time, I won't be so nice. Now, BYE NATHAR."

"See ya," and with that, Nathar walked into the forest. I had no idea how that human would get back to his homeland, but I had upheld Eragon's promise, and that was all that was concerned with me.

Agitated that I had let someone rattle me so easily, I managed to focus my mind on some other insignificant issues in order to clear my head. Turning back towards the Varden, I set off at a quick pace, hoping Eragon was always.

The trees whipped by me, their branches reaching out to me as I sprinted towards the camp. My talk with Nathar had sparked a huge internal debate in my mind. Just what did Eragon mean to me? What if Eragon had died during the time I was always with Nathar?

As if in response into that last question, a huge pain spread across the interior of my skull. Gasping, I saw the possibilities if Eragon had truly disappeared out of my life.

If Eragon left, I would revert back to being the Ambassador and Princess Arya, a lone elf with the heavy weight of both grief and responsibility on my shoulders.

Smiling, I thought about the time when Eragon and I had been returning to the Varden after his 'disappearance' following his attack on the Ra'zac.

There had only been the two of us, and though we spent that time constantly in danger, I admitted that I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the young Rider.

When I was with Eragon, there were no courtly manners, and my worries were deemed insignificant. I couldn't care less about what my mother was thinking at the moment, or my role as Princess of the Elven Kingdon.

No, life without Eragon would not be pleasant. I was surprised at how much Eragon had influenced me over the short time span we had known each other as well as how big a part of my life he now was.

To keep my mind off things, I recited the true names of every metal I knew, a technique I had learnt from Eragon himself.

Annoyed to find Eragon invading my thoughts all the time, I surrendered to only hoping that he was okay. It was the least I could do in that situation.

Taking note of my controlled outward appearance, I spotted the first signs of the Varden's camp come into my view.

Quickening my pace, I took in the sights of tents being pitched and the camp being established.

The soldiers had attacked before camp had even been established, and I now saw bodies being carried away to clear the ground for construction.

Projecting my thoughts towards the huge mind of Saphira, I touched the dragon's mind.

_Arya,_ the dragon acknowledged. She was curled a fair way away from the camp, as her bulk would have been a hindrance to the construction.

_Greetings Saphira. Where's Eragon?_

_In the green tent,_ the dragon replied. _The ugly one,_ she added.

I smiled. _Thank you,_ I sent, before breaking our contact.

Feeling noticeably lighter, I bounded into the Varden's camp. Saphira's thoughts were not disturbingly laden with anxiety or any other worried emotions.

From that fact, I deduced that Eragon was fine. I spotted the tent Saphira had told her about instantly. It was indeed, very ugly.

Worry still clenching at my gut, I arrived at the tent. Checking my composure, I strode into the tent, which was evidently the infirmary for the Varden.

Rows of injured men greeted me, many affected for life by their wounds. Casting my eyes along the rows of patients, I twisted uncomfortably at the sight of their agonised eyes.

Remembering the aim of my visit, I quickly scanned the tent for Eragon. I spotted his figure a by one side of the tent, many healers by his side.

Emotions threatening to overwhelm me once more, I forced them back down once more, adopting a blank face as I made my way around the rows of patients.

My eyes fell on a peculiar cluster of young female healers, whispering amongst themselves. Both curious and angry that they were not aiding the patients, I edged closer to listen.

"Shadeslayer really is handsome."

"Did you see his abdominals?"

"No, his pectorals were stunning though…."

Feeling blood rising to my head, I resisted the urge to blast the girls out of the tent. I glared at them instead, and they turned under the weight of my stare.

Evidently uncomfortable under my heavy gaze, they quickly dispersed, but not before muttering moody comments.

My mood already soured, I put on an intimidating look before walking towards Eragon, the healers around him turning around in surprise.

I noticed Nasuada among those at his side, and she stood as I neared.

"Greetings Arya," she started, but I ignored her. Pushing past the line of healers, I was only intent on seeing Eragon's condition with my own eyes.

My breath caught in my throat, as I drank in the sight before my eyes. The healers had opened the wound to cleanse it, and the gaping hole in his chest was enormous.

Subconsciously, my gaze travelled to his face. His facial muscles was lax, but his breathing was laboured. I knew that one of his lungs had been punctured, judging by the appearance of the wound and his breathing patterns.

I was speechless. Those damned healers didn't know anything. I moved to Eragon's side, ignoring all the healers as well as Nasuada.

Stretching out an arm, I held out my palm over his punctured chest, calling on my reserves to heal his wound.

He chose that instant to crack open one eye. "Arya," he began…

* * *

That wasn't _as_ short as the last chapter, but tell me if it's still too short. Thanks to all those reviewers, once again. Thank you all for reading this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Another big thank you to all who reviewed. It's always refreshing to come home after a term of hiking to see great feedback. Thanks, guys.

* * *

"Arya-"Eragon began. Arya jolted inwardly, but maintained enough composure to sustain the energy she was channelling. Gritting her teeth, she swung her gaze for her hands to his face.

"Eragon." It was a statement; barely a greeting. Under her hands, his chest reconstructed itself. Groaning mentally, Eragon berated himself for expecting anything else from her.

"No need to be so cold, Arya. You'll-" Fixing him with an impossible glare, Arya cut off the spell.

Feeling the depletion of strength from her reserves, she looked pointedly away from his bare chest.

Eragon gulped. The elf was extraordinarily impulsive. He rubbed his finger across his torso, where the laceration had been. "I guess I owe you once more, Arya." He laughed nervously as one striking eye fixed itself on him. "Or twice more…" Sighing, the elf turned away. Eragon let out a slow exhale of relief.

By now, a circle of spectators had congregated around the two of them in a loose ring. Swinging himself into a sitting position, Eragon recoiled as he saw the battle-stained breeches still on his legs.

He would need to bathe later, he mentally noted. "Outside Nasuada's tent. Ten minutes," and with that, Arya strode from the room, the eyes of all those standing in the room following her departure.

Eragon sighed, stretching. Turning to Nasuada, he shrugged balefully. "Twenty minutes from now. My tent. Be there," the Varden commander barked. She departed promptly. Eragon rubbed his temples with a hand, evidently agitated.

Scanning the circle, he spotted a nurse. Smiling, he approached her. "Excuse me, my shirt-"

"Yes! Yes! Ah-shirt for the . Yes. Ah-wait…wait right there!" Startled as to how flustered the girl was, Eragon grinned crookedly at the spectators.

"Well…looks like I'm in trouble…" he mumbled. "Women…I never understand them…" A skittering nurse thrust a shirt at him.

Offering a weak smile, he pulled the shirt over his head, further rumpling his hair in the process. Emitting a slight squeak, the nurse crabbed away from him, eyes shining with open adoration.

With a few laughs and chuckles, the circle gradually dispersed. With a jolt, Eragon remembered Arya's words. _Ten minutes...ten minutes until I will experience a thorough lashing of her toungue._

He realised absently that the nurse had given him the wrong shirt-it was too large. Growling under his breath, he walked out the tent, heading straight for Nasuada's tent. He was tired, dirty and in desperate need of a bath. Instinctively, Eragon reached out for Saphira.

_Saphira._

_Little One._

_You can't be mad at me as well…_

_Never, Eragon. I just question the wisdom of your actions._

_The soldier?_

_Yes, the Empire's soldier. He may be happy, but Arya is far from it._

_It was my choice. She should have known that I wouldn't die from such a wound._

_That was not what she was disturbed about. Arya was horrified that she had stabbed you._

_It wasn't willingly, and I know that Arya knows that I forced my body to take the blow. _

_That, and the rumour that Eragon Shadeslayer was stabbed by Arya Drӧttingu is travelling around at breakneck speed. It's bad publicity._

_Mmm…I never thought about that part. For the most part, I feel bouyant that the boy is out there, still breathing._

_You never change, Eragon. Your heart and mind remain as pure as ever._

_That may be. Am I forgiven, Saphira?_

_Do I have any other choice? I always fail to be angry with you. You know that I love you._

_Of course. And I reciprocate that feeling. Thank you, Saphira._

Saphira relayed a wave of affection through their mental link. _Enjoy your meeting with Arya and Nasuada._ Eragon groaned.

Sighting the red pavilion, Eragon yawned and stretched before walking up to the tent. The breeze rubbed the coarse material of his shirt against his chest. With an air of impatience, he tore off the shirt and magically shortened its proportions. His eyes met Arya's at that instant, and he froze.

"Greetings, Arya," he began apprehensively.

"Good day to you, Eragon," Arya replied coolly. Eragon floundered for something to say, but found nothing. He remained silent.

He slung the shirt around his neck in disgust. The shirt had been made for someone much rounder of waist than he, and billowed out like a dress. He would not walk around in a small, dress-like shirt. Arya grimaced. "Would you like to take a walk with me, Shadeslayer?"

"Ah-sure. The shirt-"

Arya frowned. "Are you cold?'"

"No."

"Then just walk like that. I hear that Nasuada also has a desire to talk with you. You can change before then." She turned and walked, Eragon tailing her closely. Neither had their swords, but they walked with ease.

Arya led Eragon out the city walls. At a suitably isolated area, Arya stopped and turned to face him. "This will do."

"Arya, I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes. I apologize for any uncomfortable feelings or thoughts I may have caused you. I apologize for my rash and ill-thought actions. I apologi-"

"It is I who needs to apologize. I stabbed you."

"Nay, that was due to my own will. You and I are both sure of that." Arya looked uncomfortable, but did not pursue the subject.

"The question remains, why did you do it?" Eragon rubbed the back of his head, smiling slightly.

"If you see a boy and it was within your power to save him, would you not save him?"

"It was a battle. You were helping the enemy."

"Arya, once you gained power, you lost sight of the weak. Only my memory of being a young boy wielding a sword binds me to help and sympathize with the afflicted. We have power others lack. I believe that this power holds the potential to make a difference. I saw a boy, futilely jabbing a sword at a sword master. He was to die, that much was obvious. Using what the elves and dragons had gifted me with, I gave him a second chance."

"I lost sight of the weak?"

"You forget that the majority of this world's populace are oppressed, forced to do another's bidding. Freedom comes at a cost, a cost far too high for most. For them, daily life is devoted to serving another for their own livelihoods and families."

"You've grown wise, Eragon."

"No. I have merely learnt how to think."

"Nathar…"

"Hmm?"

"Nathar was his name. He was a insanely cheerful boy. We talked before he left."Eragon tilted his head towards the sky, a smile gracing his features."Eragon, I realised something while you were unconscious."

"Yes?"

"You thought of me as the same worth as that Empire's soldier during that fight, didn't you?"

"Wait…what?"

"To you, my wellbeing had the same importance as Nathar's. Protecting him was as important as protecting me." Eragon turned to Arya, his face serious.

"Arya, you know how I feel about you. You're irreplaceable to me. Why would you ask me that?"

"I don't know. Forgive me; recently my mind has become addled. I cannot think straight."

"Arya…" Eragon was at a loss for words.

"Promise me that you will remember one thing."

"Sure."

"Remember that you mean a lot to me too," she murmured. "Just don't die, and I'll be satisfied." Eragon smiled.

"It's a promise." A nearby bush suddenly rustled. Instantly assuming a defensive stance Eragon scrutinised the bush with his eyes. "There's someone there."

"Show yourself!" Arya demanded, raising her fists. With a few more rustles, a slender form rolled from out the bushes. "Nathar! What on earth are you doing here?"

The young boy sniffed indignantly, dusting twigs from his blond hair. "I don't know the way home."

"Please tell me you were not eavesdropping…"

Satisfied with his appearance, Nathar crossed his arms. "I was."

"You-"

"Hey, Nathar. It is nice to meet you. I am Eragon." Eragon interrupted an enraged Arya, who looked ready to murder Nathar.

"Good day to you, Shadeslayer. I am honoured."

"Please…no formalities. Let us have an enjoyable conversation. How have you bee-"

"Nathar, I told you to leave a fair while ago." Arya cut off Eragon, glaring at the boy.

"I told you, I am lost."

"You are within three kilometres of Feinster. You are not lost."

"I was going to make sure my hero was okay." Eragon chuckled, looking at the boy with ill-concealed warmth.

"I'm no hero, though I am in great form," he said lightly.

"Of course. Shadeslayer is much more respectable than this fiery elf here."

"You, my dear friend, need **discipline**." Arya increased the force behind her look.

Nathar ignored her searing glare. "You see now, Shadeslayer? She is volatile." Eragon chuckled. "A shame, though. She is really quite beautiful. If I didn't have a sweetheart already, I would be grovelling at her feet."

"You are a good man, Nathar. Honest men stay true to their hearts."

Nathar beamed at the compliment. "I love Evelyn, and she loves me. She's all that I need." Eragon felt his gut clench at the evident joy in the boy's voice. "I don't have titles, money or land, but I have her. I am content."

"Eragon, I believe Nasuada wanted to see you." Eyes widening, Eragon recalled his appointment.

"I am in for a scolding," he muttered, running a hand through his unruly hair. "I need a shirt."

"You can have mine, Shadeslayer," Nathar piped. "You make all men feel insignificant in comparison to your tanned muscles and good form. You should hide it underneath a shirt." Eragon laughed off the comment, but felt blood rising up to his face. He vaguely registered Arya uncomfortably turning away.

"Really? Well, I'll have to thank you for this Nathar. You see, my liege can be a little…frightful at times." Nathar laughed happily, and pulled off his own tunic.

"It's not one of Galbotorix's uniforms. I couldn't afford one."

"Thank you so much, Nathar. Arya, can you show him the way to his home while I am gone?" Where Nathar was gaunt, Eragon possessed lean muscle. The labourer's shirt hugged his features tightly, emphasising each muscle on his torso. Shrugging, he turned to Arya.

Seeing him in the tight shirt, Arya's eyes bulged for a second before reverting to their usual cold selves. Even so, her eyes seemed to have a little more light in them. "Have a nice talk with Nasuada, Eragon. I'll make sure Nathar leaves this time."

"Thanks," he yelled, already sprinting through the trees towards the Varden. He skidded to a halt outside Nasuada's pavilion, restlessly waiting for the Nighthawks to announce his presence.

"Enter," a voice commanded. Gulping, Eragon edged inside, where Nasuada impatiently waited.

She rose, fixing him with a hard glare. "You're late."

* * *

That's another chapter up. Sorry about the late update, Timbertop's a bit...unreasonable

Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback is always welcome and valued.


End file.
